The Feet of Giants
by RebeccaLadd
Summary: Imagine if Voldemort had come back, and he decided not to fight.


**The Feet of Giants**

_"We live at the feet of giants_

_With spiky silver hair_

_and strange green fur_

_covered in painful brown-grey scratches"_

-_James H. Galle_

The air was thin here, and Harry struggled for breath with every step he took. The young wizard had thought that his winters in the frigid walls of Hogwarts had exposed him to the cold of winter, but this was something new. His teeth ached from the air he was breathing, and his nose was being rubbed raw by the infernal (or was that anti-infernal) frost in the air. This was a bad idea; he was not pleased with what was happening. He was not pleased with his orders. He was a soldier in a long forgotten war.

For surely, who now shuddered at the name "Voldemort"? The character was a bogeyman that haunted children's dreams. Their mothers told them of the mysterious Tom Marvolo Riddle, who had killed the parents of a little boy just themselves and left the poor child an orphan living with his horrid, Muggle, relatives.

In fact Voldemort had accomplished his goal of a segregated society. It is horrible, thought many mothers, the way those Muggles raise their children. Pretending as if there is no such thing as magic, no wonder the poor dears are so confused. They held up Hermione Granger as the shining example of why 'Muggle Rearing' was no good. Miss Granger's race to perfection had led to her untimely suicide at the age of 19. Harry had found her alone in her flat, a box of poisoned chocolates on her bedside table, the note in her hands.

He could recite it from memory, and often he did, abridging it as he'd seen fit because the note had been so fucking Hermione that as long as he cut to the important parts he might pretend that she wasn't quite dead. Maybe it was just a very long trip; this was plausible because she had left a note that was so full of herself that she couldn't possibly be dead. It had said, "Harry and Ron- I am so sorry and I shouldn't be sorry because in the end this is my decision, but I fear that this shall be the first adventure we don't take together. I love you both and don't forget to study hard to get ahead. Yours Truly, Hermione."

Ron and Harry had clung to each other during the funeral. The Daily Prophet had called them gay for weeks in the newspaper, but no one had believed it. How could they when they had seen Ron's face as he looked into the casket? Harry had seen Ron's face and personally compared it to the face of a man who has seen his final destination and discovered that he will be going downward. Dean Thomas had said it reminded him of the day his grandmother had died; his grandfather had looked just like Ron.

It therefore came as no surprise to anyone when Ron began drinking. It was not surprising when he began seeing Lavender again. It was very shocking to hear from Lavender that whenever he came home drunk he referred to her as a 'slut'.

"He says that she would have slapped him silly if he'd suggested sex after the first date. He says I must be a whore since we've only been together for a couple months and we've already moved in together. But Harry, I was living with my parents and they wouldn't have him around anymore, so I moved out. I left my parents for that bastard, and he hates me. What the hell am I supposed to do? You're his best friend, tell me."

He had certainly pitied her. Her blond hair was dry and brittle, a bruise had begun to form on her left cheek bone, and there were several others on her arms in various colours. Her makeup was running. She looked like a kindergartener's drawing. But what Harry hated the most was the smell of firewhisky on her breath.

"That's me, innit?" Harry had said, half-drunk himself. "Best friend to bastards and dead girls! Let us drink a toast to the glorious tradition of friendship!" He saw Lavender blush and calmed down. This was not her fault. It was Harry's fault and Ron's fault, and fucking Hermione's fault, and possibly fucking McGonnagal's fault, but Lavender did not deserve this. Not when she was willing to do what Harry couldn't do.

"'M sorry. I'm not a partic- particular- par- good friend right now. I'm a bastard just like Ronnnie, and 'Mione's dead. Hermione." He corrected himself. She had always hated ''Mione'. He looked into his hands. He wasn't prepared for company. "Maybe you should go, or I can go." Lavender had understood, she was great like that. It made Harry wonder if Hermione had known how secretly amazing Lavender was, how shockingly brilliant. She looked like a prostitute, but contained in her head was all the wisdom of the universe.

"Thank you, Harry" she had said, and then in another voice altogether, "A PROPHECY FORGOTTEN MUST BE REMEMBERED. THE PHOENIX KING MUST ANSWER TO HIS LION PRINCE." She had left quickly after that.

Harry had made an appointment with Dumbledore the next day. The prophecy was very straightforward. Hogwarts had changed little since his departure. It was strange then that he had changed so much. And stranger still that looking at the seventh years he felt so old, and this felt so uncomfortable that he wondered how his professors had stood it. Why hadn't they taken each graduate and shaken them hard? Why hadn't they told them how different life was from Hogwarts? It was unfair, to leave the towers and expect to see life before oneself as a nice open road. Although perhaps that was what appealed to the professors the most; that idea that life was so straightforward. It occurred to Harry that many of his life's problems would have been solved had he gone into teaching.

Dumbledore had been as mysterious as ever, until Harry had mentioned the prophecy. The man had been remarkably on topic. He had let Harry see his memories of Trelawney's prophecy, and told Harry once again how wonderful it was that Voldemort had renounced his life of evil upon his reincarnation. He had given him the name and location of Voldemort's temple and reminded Harry that Voldemort no longer went by Voldemort, he was called Xiao Ming and refused to have any business with anyone perpetuating the name Voldemort.

As Harry left, Dumbledore wished him a safe journey and many more offers of lemon drops. Harry noticed state of Dumbledore's beard and his faded eyes. The man had not twinkled one time in the entirety of the visit. Dumbledore was getting old.

Harry's feet were frozen. He had always been shite at warming charms and now it was biting him in the arse. Quite literally, as he could not feel his arse either. It didn't matter anymore, he was here. He tapped the small metal dish with his wand, and felt warmth spread from his hands to his feet, leaving him unpleasantly tingly. He stood in the snow for at least five minutes muttering, "fucking hell, fucking Voldemort, fucking twinkly bastard" before a small wizard in a red robe opened the gate and admitted Harry into the wards.

"I'm looking for Xiao Ming."

The wizard said nothing, but he led Harry through the winding tunnels of his sanctuary to the very back of the temple. Harry felt a terrific shudder rip through him as he passed the wards. He had never felt any wards so obviously powerful.

The little man in red had led him to a garden, warm as any summer day. Harry was seated at a low table amid the orchids.

Within moments he was joined by another figure in red, hooded this time. "Hello, Mr Potter." Hissed his host.

"Hello, Xiao Ming."

"I have brought tea." And indeed from somewhere within his robes Xiao Ming produced a tray with two cups of tea. Harry's mouth watered. "I shall return momentarily" said Xiao Ming as he swept away from the table to the small pond.

While his back was turned, Harry slipped the contents of a small, white, paper package into a teacup. He slipped the paper back into his coat pocket.

"To us!" he said, holding his teacup in the air. He took a large gulp. "The Boy-Who-Lived, and the Man-Who-Did-Not-Stay-Dead."

He finished the rest of his tea. "I came to tell you that separation of Muggle-borns from their parents has begun. The Ministry's official stance is that it confuses the children too much, so as soon as the Hogwarts Enrolment Book records a name, the child is separated from their Muggle family and relocated with wizard kind. Mostly in orphanages."

"I am deeply sorry." Said the man beneath the hood. He had made no move to drink his tea.

"It's your fault." Said Harry. "They use me as an example, they say it was magic that made the Dursleys beat me." He looked sadly into his teacup. There was no pot for him to refill his cup. "Did you know they use your name to scare children." He mimicked a nagging mother, "Eat your beets kiddies or big bad Voldie-mort will kill Mummy and Daddy, and then where would you be?" he shook his head; a steady pain was building in the back of his head. "It makes me sick. And why the fuck haven't you drunk any of your tea? It is too damn good to sit there and go cold."

Xiao Ming lowered his hood and for the first time Harry really saw his face. He felt pity tinged with guilt for what he would do. The red eyes gestured to Harry's sleeve and back to Xiao Ming's cup.

Harry laughed. "You think I poisoned you? Don't be silly. It was for me. I heard the prophecy, 'neither can live while the other survives' and all." There were colours flashing in front of his eyes, and Hermione's voice was calling him. "I'm going to die now, okay? And I want you to go on living." He could tell that Xiao Ming was panicking and that this death would haunt him more than any he had ever seen, even though he'd had no hand in it.

And the next day the sun rose and the sun set as it almost always did, but new under its sight was a small patch of grey ashes on top of a white, white mountain in the country where giants could kiss the sky.

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